


Kuebiko

by Mierin



Series: Nodus Tollens [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Poor Tony, Reader-Insert, Steve and Bucky are mentioned, civil war spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 22:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6772057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierin/pseuds/Mierin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[This fic is set towards the end of CA:CW, and there are SPOILERS in it.]</p><p>“It’s okay, Tony. I promise you. We’ll get past this. We’ll get through this. I’ve got you.”</p><p>You’re whispering, words shaky and barely formed before you force them out. And it’s nonsense, the lot of it is nonsense.</p><p>But he tightens his grip on you even more until it’s almost painful, and slowly, ever so slowly, you start believing in your words. Because you’d move mountains for him, bleed yourself dry, give your life, anything.  So there’s no reason why you can’t do this for him.</p><p>[Written for tumblr, but I think I'm going to be writing a bunch of oneshots based on CA:CW and I want to post those here.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kuebiko

**Author's Note:**

> kuebiko: n. a state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence, which force you to revise your image of what can happen in this world. [the whole definition can be found here: http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/38066056235/kuebiko]

It has been hours since Tony left to visit the Raft, and after that first phone call to tell you that maybe he was wrong, and he’s going to fix this entire mess, that he has to do it alone—you panic, and you try to stop him, and you beg, because you’ll do anything for him, and you can’t let him go alone—he doesn’t contact you again.

Rhodey is in the hospital still, and when he wakes up, he’ll have to deal with the fact everything has changed, that his life will never be the same again. Vision isn’t really talking to anyone, not reaching out for help, despite the fact that he feels guilt for the first time and it’s obvious that he doesn’t know what to do with it. And Natasha, oh Natasha, you’re trying so hard not to blame her for what she had done, but you’re failing, miserably.

Try as you might, you don’t understand how it has come to this. How your team—your team which had been the closest thing you had to family—has been torn apart so quickly, so easily.

So you wait, and you wait, and you wait, and you feel so damn alone, already grieving for losses that have yet to happen. Because you know, somewhere in that deep abyss that has opened up inside you, where there was once place for happiness, and justice, and friends, friends you’d give your life for, you know that Tony can’t fix this.

And as each minute passes with no news received, the infernal fear that has been clawing at you ever since this entire mess with the Accords— _and Steve, dear god, Steve, why the hell did he have to rip everything apart?_ — started, it’s only growing.

By the time you receive the distress signal from Tony, that toxic, strangling fear has almost consumed you whole.

But just knowing that he needs you, that he’s willing to take your help, that he’s still alive, and you can still save him— _save each other, because you can’t move past this if anything happens to him_ —that knowledge is all you need to pull yourself together.

You don’t call anyone else. [Who’s left to call anyway?]

But you no longer feel so alone either, because you’re going to Tony, and whatever else happens, whatever you have to do, you will bring him back with you. And god help anyone that gets in your way now.

By the time you land the quinjet at the coordinates he had sent, you’re firmly in the grip of an icy rage that floods through your mind and your soul, screaming promises of violence and refusing to abate.

The coordinates lead you to a bunker in the middle of nowhere, and even as you make your way through it, every sense on high alert as you look for some sign of life, you know that everything’s far too quiet. And something is terribly wrong.

_Don’t let it be too late. Oh please don’t. Tony has to be fine. [Steve has to be fine.] You’ve all lost enough. No more, please._

As you go deeper and deeper into the bunker, you pick up the trail of a fight, and you follow in its wake of destruction, growing tenser by the minute.

And then, you find him. Lying on the edge of a concrete slab in his destroyed suit, bloodied and broken, eyes closed.

“Tony,” his name leaves your lips in a strangled cry, and the coldness that had taken hold of you dissipates in a split second as you throw yourself to the ground by his side, hands flying rapidly over his face and finding their way to his neck, checking for a pulse.

And for a few desperate seconds, you can hardly bring yourself to focus, and then you feel it, slow, a little erratic, but there all the same. He’s alive, and if you have anything to say about it, he’s going to stay that way. And that’s all the reassurance you need.

A quick glance at his chest tells you that the arc reactor is completely busted: you’re going to have to pry the suit off yourself. You’ve barely begun the task when suddenly, he splutters awake.

“Tony, hey, look at me,” with one hand you press him back down, stopping his attempts to get up, and with the other you cup his cheek, turning his face to yours, “it’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

He stares wild-eyed at you for a few seconds, and then in one shuddering movement, he relaxes, and his gaze drifts away from yours.

You want to ask him what had happened, ask him whether he had accomplished what he came here to do, _ask him why he left you behind._

But you don’t, because obviously that is a conversation that can wait until he’s feeling better, until he actually feels able to talk about whatever it is that has happened. So you work on dismantling the suit, helping him up to sit with his back against the wall as you make progress.

“He’s gone,” Tony’s quiet, broken words shake you out of your dark reverie, and you look up at him only to find that he’s looking at something on the floor behind you, and even as you turn around to follow his gaze, you’re scared of what you’re going to find, “He left, ___. Steve. He left.”

The shield lies abandoned on the disturbed ground, and suddenly, your heart is sinking, and you begin to understand a little of what has happened, of why Tony is in this state. There’s a sense of finality to his words, as if this is the end of it all, as if Steve is never coming back, as if he’s lost forever.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” you whisper as you look back at him, because that is all you can manage through your own renewed grief, a grief that now has new purpose, “so sorry.”

“Yeah,” his voice is as soft as yours, equally troubled, and it carries the shadow of something darker, even more painful, “I’m sorry too.”

You pull off the rest of his armour as you wait for him to tell you the rest, because you can’t imagine what could be worse than Steve leaving. Tony doesn’t speak until you’ve finished your task, and you fall back to lean against the wall next to him, suddenly, inexplicably exhausted.

“Barnes killed my parents.”

A shocked gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you turn to stare at Tony, and in his haunted eyes, you find the truth of his words.

“Tony,” you begin, reaching out to take one of his hands, but your voice is clouded with the very pain that had been underlying his, and you simply can’t continue. Because you’ve already said you’re sorry, and he has said the same, and you don’t know what else is left.

He proves you wrong with his next words.

“Steve knew. He knew all along.”

And just like that, the last of the supports you’ve been holding onto is ripped away, and you’re drowning, burning, suffocating, all at the same time. And you understand what’s happened to Tony.

In one fluid movement, you drop his hand and surge forward on your knees, taking him into your trembling arms. He clutches you to him in return, his arms tight as shackles around your waist, his chin digging into your collarbone. His breath hitting your neck in rattling gasps as he sobs, his entire body shaking, the tremors passing through your own.

You anchor yourself to him, hands pressed firmly onto his shoulders, and with quivering lips you drop a million kisses to the top of his head.

“It’s okay, Tony. I promise you. We’ll get past this. We’ll get through this. I’ve got you.”

You’re whispering, words shaky and barely formed before you force them out. And it’s nonsense, the lot of it is nonsense.

But he tightens his grip on you even more until it’s almost painful, and slowly, ever so slowly, you start believing in your words. Because you’d move mountains for him, bleed yourself dry, give your life, anything.  So there’s no reason why you can’t do this for him.

You spend a long time like that, twined and entangled on the ground, holding each other together in the only ways you know how. And when you finally stumble to your feet, Tony’s sobs have subsided, and he leans on you as you retrace your steps, slowly and painfully, and in complete silence, to the quinjet waiting outside.

The sky has darkened by the time you’re finally clambering into the jet, and as you settle him into a seat and begin to move towards the controls- he stops you, snagging your wrist in an iron-grip.

“What? What is it, Tony?” you ask, whirling back to face him, letting him reel you back in.

“Don’t.. don’t ever leave me, ___,” his gaze is heavy on yours, and he is begging, “not like this, please. Promise me.”

And what’s left of your heart—the tiny part that survived this ordeal unharmed— shatters.

“I promise, Tony,” you tell him, freeing your hand from his grip, and cupping his face, “Never like this, never at all if I can help it.”

You bend, press your forehead to his, let your eyes fall shut, let him take comfort in your presence, as you take comfort in his. Because even as his hands come up to grip your hips and pull you down onto his lap and hold you in place, and he whispers your name onto your lips what feels like a million times over, you feel yourself calming down.

“We’re going to be okay,” he tells you finally, and you know without opening your eyes that he is smiling, a smile that is sharp and jagged and almost twisted but a smile nonetheless, “ _I’ve_ got _you_.”

And with the bruised remains of your heart, you believe him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I found myself really feeling for Tony throughout the movie, more than I did for anyone else, and that ending was like a punch to the gut, so I just had to write something. That said, I'm not anti- Cap, in fact there's probably at least two oneshots coming that are more sympathetic to his/Bucky's side of the fight


End file.
